


My One and Only Love

by cytoplasmridiculum



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memories, Post Skinny Dipper, Pre Wolves of Deep Brooklyn, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytoplasmridiculum/pseuds/cytoplasmridiculum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of Clark Walker, Henry Morgan is trying to find normalcy again in his morning routine. However, any chance of moving forward today is out of the question. Henry’s life is about to be disrupted once again by death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My One and Only Love

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thank you to idlethoughts for beta reading! Honestly, this story would not have made it far, or as detailed, without you. You're fantastic and I am grateful for all of the help and constructive feedback.
> 
> (Feel free to listen to Ella Fitzgerald's "One and Only Love" for added effect.)

Doctor Henry Morgan went through his normal morning routine, or tried to at least. It had been two weeks since the incident with Clark Walker occurred and recently, the end of his first full week back at work.  He carefully crafted his morning coffee as usual, although for one person only this morning. Abe begrudgingly left Henry for the weekend to attend an antique fair. Henry assured Abe a quiet weekend at home allow would him to finish some light reading on Medieval Spanish poetry.

Henry sat reading the morning paper, allowing the aroma of freshly brewed coffee to envelop him. Normally, he skipped the Obituary section. This particular morning he slowly paged through the crisp sheets when suddenly part of a name caught his eye.

 

_Abigail Morgan_

_March 18, 1920 - December 26, 2014_

_Boston General Hospital nurse for 25 years. Beloved friend and colleague._

_  
Abigail Morgan, aged 94, passed away Friday, December 26, 2014 at…_

 

Henry froze. He reread the article two, three, four, times before the news finally begun to sink in.

Henry sat in a once relaxed and now rigid position – right hand pressed against the porcelain coffee cup, left hand gingerly grasping the newspaper – for what felt like hours.

_Why now?_ Henry thought.

Slowly rising from his chair, the newspaper slid with his hand, slowly, dragging against the wooden table.

He descended the stairs from the apartment, to the shop, to his research laboratory in a haze. Grabbing the nearest record, Henry placed it on the record player and then grabbed a glass and poured himself a drink.

With the partially wrinkled newspaper on his desk, he sat and stared - at it, and nothing at all - in the dim light. He swirled his glass of Macallan, memories fond and heartbreaking racing through his head.

 

During the chaos and tragedy of war, they both shared the wonder of life that is Abraham and his miraculous survival. That snowy day, gunfire, and Abe’s cry for comfort. Abigail’s wondrous and hopeful skyblue eyes as she held him.

 

Their first kiss in Henry’s hotel room after a full day of playing with Abraham and putting him to bed for the night.  

“I must say, Doctor Morgan, you are becoming an exemplary father,” Abigail had teased after his fourth try changing Abe’s diaper.

He’d chuckled, “Well, I happen to have a superb teacher.” Henry had finished rocking his newly adopted son to sleep and placed him in a small wooden crib.  “Truly, Abigail, I don’t know if I could have done this without you.”

She’d cocked her head to the side while softly looking up at him, as she often did, Abigail had warmly stated, “Henry, he is the luckiest boy in the world to have a father like you. I know I am lucky for simply knowing you”. Rising on tiptoes, she’d placed a soft kiss on his right cheek, and then one deeply on his lips.

Henry had been so reserved. Abigail was the one who courted him.

 

And, that long, painful, and haunting night when Abigail had miscarried. She had lost so much blood from unexpected complications. Henry had held her hand tightly though every moment allowed, praying, if there was indeed some deity listening, to spare Abigail and their baby. Her frightened, tear-filled eyes begging him for comfort had nearly broke any resolve remaining…

 

What brought Henry back to his grief-stricken present state for a moment was Ella Fitzgerald’s voice humming soft and faintly in the background…

  _…like an April breeze on the wings of spring. And you will appear in all your splendor…_

His mind immediately flashed back to the night he had proposed to Abigail. How he told her this may seem rash and the future uncertain. How he’d promised they would always love each other. Forever.

 

_… You fill my eager heart with such desire. Every kiss you give sets my soul on fire ..._

He remembered how they would talk for hours. And while they conversed in bed, he’d admired the contours of her face. When the morning light would catch her features just right, illuminating all of her beauty, especially the way Abigail’s nose crinkled as she laughed.

A content smile, a playful beam as her fingers lightly brushed Henry’s face before they fell asleep.

 

  _… I give myself in sweet surrender, my one and only love ...._

In that moment he caved into an unsweet surrender. The tears suddenly welled up in his weary eyes and pooled over, transforming into waterfalls. Gripping the table and nearly clawing the black and white photo of Abigail, he wept. Henry’s head hung while his body wracked with sobs.

 “Abigail, my sweet Abigail”, he gasped. “Please don’t go again.”

 

What he did not fully acknowledge was a faint and lingering thought…

_“My Henry, someday I’ll be gone and you’ll still be here.”_

**… _why must you be right?_**

Henry’s grief filled the laboratory as he wept for his beloved, alone.


End file.
